


Stand and Touch the Stars

by RainingPrince



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Asphyxiation, Aziraphale is Ticklish, Breathplay, Brief Shakespearean quote, Crowley's Pronouns change, Declarations of Adoration, Demonically Enhancing your Lover's Experience, Erotic Poetry, Established Relationship, Foot Massage, Fuzzy Robes and Foot rubs, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Graphic Description of Snake Scales, Hot Chocolate, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Nonbinary Character, Other, Poetry, Predator/Prey, Reciting Poetry while you Choke your Partner, previously negotiated kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 07:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20503058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: The thing about snakes is that, if you aren’t careful, or you don’t know exactly what you are getting yourself into, their scales tickle. Mercilessly.If you are a battle-hardened younger sibling with decades of experience under your belt, or you happen to be one of the rare people on earth not possessed of even the slightest sensitivity to ticklish sensation, you may be able to handle it deadpan, given some warning. But even most of those who aren’t ticklish when it comes to other humans often have a hard time reconciling it when faced with the cool, solid reality of scales sliding across their skin. It’s wonderful, definitely, but it’s just delightfully strange enough that it’s hard to keep a straight face. At least, at first.~~~I wanted a Snake!Crowley asphyxiation kink fic with footrubs for aftercare so I made one. And then it needed poetry...





	Stand and Touch the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Sept. 15: I revamped this piece quite significantly. It’s still the same story, but I moved some things around for better flow and to stay a bit more in-character. I added extra dialogue to flesh out the start; and deleted a couple lines at the end that were sweet but ultimately felt a little jarring. There are many littler tweaks here and there as well.  
I am much more satisfied with this version, hope you are too <3

The thing about snakes is that, if you aren’t careful, or you don’t know exactly what you are getting yourself into, their scales _tickle_. _**Mercilessly**_.

If you are a battle-hardened younger sibling with decades of experience under your belt, or you happen to be one of the rare people on earth not possessed of even the slightest sensitivity to ticklish sensation, you may be able to handle it deadpan, given some warning. But even most of those who aren’t ticklish when it comes to other humans often have a hard time reconciling it when faced with the cool, solid reality of scales sliding across their skin. It’s wonderful, definitely, but it’s just delightfully strange enough that it’s hard to keep a straight face. At least, at first.

It had already taken several tries for them to get this right, and Aziraphale had burst into giggles within the first three minutes, without fail, for three days.

“Should I unwind already?” Crowley asked, picking their head up from where they had been resting it against the angel’s shoulder.

The angel was covering his mouth, tiny shivers of glee wracking his body. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear. I know I keep laughing, but I want to get it right eventually and it’s not going to happen if we don’t try.” He smiled, putting his free hand on Crowley’s jaw, and gently rubbing his thumb over their delicate throat.

Crowley rolled their eyes, as much as one is capable of while one is a fourteen-odd-foot snake. Which is, quite a lot, if you happen to also be a demon. “Clearly this isn’t working on its own. Would you like to try something else?”

“Well, my dear, I think I would very much appreciate it if you talked to me this time?” He giggled again, as the edge of a scale caught gently against the back of one arm. “I do so love your voice.”

“Talk to you? About what?”

“Oh, well, about anything, I suppose. Perhaps it’ll distract me?”

Crowley was moving around the angel’s body. Just a slight shift, but Aziraphale found that if he paid attention, even the slightest movement was hard to miss. Crowley was only wrapped once around his middle, head on his shoulder. The lower part of their tail curled lazily over the top of one leg, the tip draped over his right ankle for leverage.

“Anything is quite open to interpretation. We could talk about the weather, or dolphins.” The demon mused. “The intricacies of social decorum when answering a knock at the stall door. Which paintings in the museum last week got the color of my scales right?” The teasing tone was hard to miss, mischief dancing in expressive golden eyes.

“Fiend!” Aziraphale squirmed a little, and then blushed. “Poetry, perhaps,”

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Crowley, flicked their tongue against Aziraphale’s cheek.

“If it suits you, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled and tapped his chin in recollection. “I do have the ‘eyes of clearest sky, and ringlets a truer light than sunshine’ as a certain poet in the 17th century put it.”

“No one has ever seen you as I do, angel. No one could ever come close to accurately capturing your radiance with words.” Crowley whispered, their mouth brushing against Aziraphale’s cheek, and the angel smiled warmly. “Ever.”

“You say it with such conviction, my love. Care to explain it to me?”

Crowley looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. Then, something changed in their manner and they began to speak. 

> _ Your breaths are mine, _
> 
> _ as sure as there was a beginning _
> 
> _ And will one day be an end. _
> 
> _ Your eyes see everything _
> 
> _ But mine only the light you reflect _
> 
> _ I have forsaken all else._

The words pulsed from them in waves, sounding strangely like they were coming from everywhere. Their mouth did not move. Aziraphale realized this was not even speech; It was older than that. 

> _ Your whispers, sweet nothings, _
> 
> _ Are the answers to every question _
> 
> _ I have ever asked. _

Humming softly, Aziraphale’s eyes fell shut, enjoying the soft slip of scales around himself. He had to admit, it was far less ticklish when he was dressed, and relaxed, and distracted. It wasn’t as fidgety, to feel their scales slide across his trousers, rich honeyed words dripping down his spine in warm rivulets of bliss. He could still feel the solid bands of muscle through the fabric. Still sense the gentle rippling as the serpent moved.

The last few attempts had been less than successful, but he had a feeling they were finally getting somewhere.

> _ As I inhale your moans into myself, _
> 
> _ They nourish me more than air, _
> 
> _ A need far deeper than life itself._

It was a truly sweet sentiment, and Aziraphale found himself sighing dreamily. It was a full, long exhale, relaxing into putty. Crowley tightened just a bit around his middle, like a hug, but when Aziraphale inhaled again it felt, just a little restrictive. Crowley wasn’t letting go.

“I can perceive you in this form like no other being, angel.” Crowley was no longer speaking verse, the difference in utterance was vaguely confusing. “I can smell every little thing your body does, even before you know it, and it’s intoxicating, angel. You smell truly delicious. Like the sweetest treat. Even now I can taste the metallic traces of your adrenaline. I do so look forward to _ swallowing you whole. _”

Aziraphale, shuddered, and his eyes snapped open. He hadn’t realized just how much of his body the demon had actually covered. They seemed longer now, bigger around, and there wasn’t very much of his own body left in his line of sight. It was all hidden behind thick coils. He could barely move a muscle.

“Your heart is racing, angel,” Crowley nearly growled in his ear. “Is this what you wanted?”

His chest burned a little with the weight of the lost breath, and he suddenly felt dizzy. He nodded, as enthusiastically as he could manage.

“Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Aziraphale felt his breathing begin to quicken, the burn in his chest grow just a little brighter. And then a hunger he wasn’t sure he had ever felt before settled softly into the furthest reaches of his consciousness, before flaring up with an alarming intensity.

The hunger for air, it screamed a deep, numb ache; an absence just behind the solar plexus. He instantly loved and hated it. The demon was speaking again. 

> _ Everything you touch comes alive _
> 
> _ Just long enough to worship _
> 
> _ At the temple of your brilliance._

Aziraphale could tell he wasn’t at breaking point, he still had some wiggle room. But it was certainly coming. He wiggled experimentally, and realized he felt a little weightless. Was it the lack of breath; or that he wasn’t even touching the bed anymore, suspended among thick, iridescent scales?

“Shall I play with you as a cat does a mouse? Or do I squeeze you until you fall limp and have my way with you?” Crowley’s tongue flicked unexpectedly across his jugular, and he gasped in surprise.

The serpent tightened again, quickly. So quickly in fact, it was almost imperceptible, but it was definitely there, as the angel felt his lungs burn hotter still, screaming in dismay at the loss.

“Do you want your clothes on, angel?” Crowley asked conversationally, much closer than expected as everything felt suddenly distant.

Aziraphale considered this with as much self-control as he could still muster, and nodded.

“All the same to me, really.” The demon continued, before sliding their head across his chest to the other side. “You remember the signal, angel?” They whispered, softly, relaxing ever so slightly.

“I remember,” Aziraphale reassured them, barely a whisper. That was all they needed.

They pulled themselves around his throat and squeezed.

Aziraphale could feel the geometric pattern of the scales; each a perfect, hard edge. He could feel every smooth, tightly knit, undulating muscle underneath. The coolness of their body against the bare skin of his neck gave him a brief shock of clarity, and it was all very, very, good.

Every muscle came alive, singing with no warning. Aziraphale found he was squirming in an unconscious effort to get free, a struggle without his permission.

Crowley released, and the air flowed back into his lungs. Not all of it, just enough for a reprieve. “You alright, angel?”

“Don’t let me go, not yet!” Aziraphale gasped, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on dark, shimmering scales. “Just a little longer!”

The tightness was back. “My little mouse doesn’t want to go free?” Crowley sounded delighted. The tongue was back, flicking reverently against Aziraphale’s ears, jaw, mouth, anywhere they could reach. Scenting him.

With the unexpected breath, Aziraphale managed to pay for a desperate request. “Keep talking,” he choked out, as his vision blurred. His nerves were flickering, alight with desire, with adrenaline, with the threat of collapse. Almost there.

> _ Cover me in your thoughts, _
> 
> _ Write your whimsy onto my skin _
> 
> _ Until the pen goes dry and longer still. _
> 
> _ I care not what is seen, _
> 
> _ Only that the marks have been made, _
> 
> _ That I have been branded yours._

Aziraphale tried to imagine this might be what drowning was like; in the split second before one finally gives out and draws the water in. When you can’t keep it out any longer. A reflex built into your system to take in anything, everything you can before you run out for good. He could feel his lungs working desperately, quickly, trying to suck in what little they could in their compressed, bound state. It was exquisite.

His vision was growing dark now, he knew it was bordering on dangerous, even for him. But something told him that if he held out, just a little longer…

> _ There is no greater ecstasy _
> 
> _ To be the one upon whose shoulders _
> 
> _ You can stand and touch the stars. _

There.

With the very last of his control, Aziraphale managed three gentle taps on whatever scales he could reach.

It was over in an instant.

The coils disappeared, replaced with steady, gentle hands, and Aziraphale’s lungs expanded gratefully to take in as much sweet air as they could. It almost hurt more, to take it in after being deprived for so long. He gulped loudly, almost choking. Long, soothing fingers rubbed his back and he felt grounded.

* * *

After a few minutes of simply breathing, Aziraphale felt confident enough to sit up on his own. A minute more and Crowley carefully helped him to stand. They kept their arm nearby the whole time, as Aziraphale shrugged out of his clothes and into a warm, fuzzy bathrobe. After that, they led him out of the bedroom, down the short hall to the sitting room, and sat him down on the couch.

Crowley kissed his cheeks in turn and then his nose. “Can I get you anything, angel?”

With a dreamy expression, Aziraphale murmured: “I would love some cocoa, actually.” His voice was a little rough, and he swallowed carefully.

“Is that all?”

“For now.”

Keeping an eye on their angel, Crowley stood and went into the kitchenette (the fact that is was so close as to have a view of the sitting room was a great relief, as they found themselves glancing out to check on him several times.) They turned on the stove, retrieving the teapot from the trivet and began filling it with water.

There were probably parts of this that, strictly speaking, a demon didn’t HAVE to do, but the ritual felt grounding. They needed it just as much as the angel did, after a moment that intense.

Retrieving the mugs, scooping the cocoa from a can, adding a couple spoonfuls of coffee to his own, -ah! Hello again, ‘he’- Crowley prepared the cocoa with practiced grace.

He presented his work proudly to the angel, who smiled at him with a tenderness that tugged on his heart, and drank it gratefully.

“It’s perfect, my love.” Aziraphale said, “Thank you.”

Crowley sat at the other end of the couch, facing Aziraphale and patted his legs. “Come on, feet up.”

Another bright smile, this one more awake, and Aziraphale acquiesced. He picked his feet up as requested, leaving squishy slippers on the floor, and Crowley took them into his lap. He began to lovingly shower them with affection, gentle rubs, and tiny kisses.

“Was that what you wanted, angel?” Crowley asked after a few minutes. “Did I get it right?”

“It was.” Aziraphale breathed. “Exactly what I wanted. You did wonderfully.”

“I was worried you were gonna lose it right there at the end. I was about ready to call it quits. You really know how to push things to the limit, angel.” Crowley said, but he wasn’t at all upset.

“Push you to the limit, demon.” the angel taunted, and Crowley blushed.

“Another time, maybe.” He said, reaching over to sip his cocoa, returning it to the table when he was done to keep his hands free.

Aziraphale took a sip as well, holding it in his mouth with an appreciative hum before swallowing. “Crowley,” he said softly. “What was that poem, the one you were reciting?”

“Did you like it, angel?”

“Very much. Where did it come from?”

“It came from you, Aziraphale. Of course it came from you. Through me to return to its inspiration.”

A very small “Oh,” parted the angel’s lips, and he contemplated Crowley with enough warmth and appreciation and love that Crowley thought it might be his turn to choke.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a truly beautiful poem that I am very very proud of for a kink fic, I'm that Bastard™.  
The poem can be found without the interruptions [on my art blog](https://narcissisticspaghetti.tumblr.com/post/187461923865/stand-and-touch-the-stars).  
~~  
Thank you Soul for the inspiration on the poetry, your blogs are beautiful!  
And thank you Starbit for the help, your suggestions were most appreciated~


End file.
